


A simple favor

by pureO



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt, Mutual Pining, and back to friends, and back to lovers, everyone from the movies will be here eventually, i just needed to write for these movies, i still don't know if this will be oc or reader, my poor writing skills, santino will be a part of this but john is endgame, this is terrible writing but I need to indulge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18985051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureO/pseuds/pureO
Summary: The bullet barely grazed me, a flesh wound as they say, but it’s deep and it still burns like a bitch. It’s not my first, either, but give it or take an inch in the right direction and it could have been fatal. I was distracted, a mistake I don’t plan on making again. But in our line of work getting shot is what could be considered normal.“What’s wrong?” I ask him on our way to the hotel. The Baba Yaga has never been particularly talkative but we at least have a decent banter, and I’d like to think we’ve become friends. Hell, he might be my only friend in the world. We’re both product of what we were raised as, of whom we were raised by, and it’s something few people can relate to.How sad is that? The only thing that bound us is death and violence. But it’s better than nothing.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on this fandom, so please be nice and all that jazz. I'm split between OC or reader insert, I'll figure it out before next part. This is sort of an intro for the fic, and it's set right after the dog thing happened (Daisy). I think there will be another 3 longer chapters (one for each movie). Italics are flashbacks. This was not proofread by anyone other than me, so there's bound to be some mistakes, I'm sorry about that. I realize it's probably horrible but I just have a lot of feelings after parabellum and I need to indulge in my John Wick thirst.

 

The knocks on the door are quick and strong but I’m in no rush to answer them.  Some annoying neighbor might have some ridiculous association meeting or  maybe the woman next door is feeling like inviting me once more to her insipid book club where they only read top ten trash best sellers and then get together to numb themselves on cheap wine . Fucking people. Can’t even drink right. 

Yet, the knocks become more urgent and I rationalize… it’s almost 10 p.m. so the likelihood of annoying neighbors is low . 

I stare  longingly at my glass of scotch, halfway finished now.  I take a long sip before pulling myself off the worn down couch and dragging my feet across the living room to the front door . 

“Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t buying.  Don’t care if it’s boner pills or Jesus, I don’t want it,” I scream through the locked door, with false hope that whatever this is, it’ll go away . 

Of course, that doesn’t happen. Instead of an answer, there’s more knocking, stronger and faster now.  I open the door a little,  just a sliver, not even unlocking the measly chain that would do nothing against intruders . 

Out of all the things I may have expected, this was definitely not it.

I’m greeted by raven black hair and deep brown eyes towering over the door and I can’t help but wish it would have  been book club chick at the door instead . 

He looks worse for wear, his tailored suit stained beyond repair with blood, and I can hear his rattled breath . His hair is messy and it falls in strands down his face, matching his scruffy beard.

His hand is still heavy though, stopping the door from closing completely,  softly but  surely . 

“I thought you got out,” I say, trying to hide the sadness in my voice. I always hated seeing him like this. 

“I need a favor,” He says growls looking at the ground beneath him. Now I realize he’s leaning on the door more for support than to actually keep me from closing it on his face. But he knows deep down that I’d never do that, and that’s why he’s here. Still, he closes his weary eyes and adds, “please,” in an audible reluctant tone, and I know it hurts him to say it. 

Truth is I thought I had seen the last of him 5 years ago. Now there’s a ghost at my door, because in this business the past often refuses to stay where it belongs. 

The sigh that escapes my lips is heavy but he understands. I close the door and I know what I will do in spite of my better judgment. The chain moves with a grating sound, as if trying to convince me not to open the door. 

He lets himself in, and plops down on my eggshell couch. Back in the day, when he and I worked together I knew better than to keep light colored furniture around him. Blood is a bitch to get out. 

“Looks like you could use a drink,” I tell him, and he looks at me with the shadow of a smile and nods. 

“Have any bourbon?” He asks. Some things never change. 

“I have scotch. You’ll drink it and you’ll…” 

“…Like it,” he finishes for me. “Yeah, I remember you hate bourbon” 

“Hate is a strong word,” I reply, busying myself with finding the bottle. “Why are you here Jonathan” 

“Helen died,” He whispers. 

“I know." I answer, pouring us both a hefty dose of single malt scotch, "I’m so sorry,” He winces at my words but stays silent. 

I bite my lip, because I have nothing to say, nothing that will make him feel better. Still, I try. “I thought about coming to the funeral, but … I didn’t want to make things harder for you. I know you never wanted your old life peering into the new one. Guess that’s out the window now.” I say offering him the drink. 

“Guess so,” He tells me, taking the glass from my hand. His fingers graze my own and for a second I’m back to where I was 6, 7 years ago. I can’t have that.

Not that I can help it, cause my brain is already opening old wounds. 

 

**

_ The bullet  barely grazed me, a flesh wound as they say, but it’s deep and it still burns like a bitch. It’s not my first, either, but give it or take an inch in the right direction and it could have been fatal. I  was distracted , a mistake I don’t plan on making again. But in our line of work getting shot is what could  be considered normal.  _

__

_ “What’s wrong?” I ask him on our way to the hotel.  The Baba Yaga has never been particularly talkative but we at least have a decent banter, and I’d like to think we’ve become friends . Hell, he might be my only friend in the world. We’re both product of what we  were raised as, of whom we  were raised by , and it’s something few people can relate to.  _

__

_ How sad is that? The only thing that bound us is death and violence. But it’s better than nothing.  _

__

_ So that’s why his silence feels weird.  Especially after a success like the one we've managed, and the particular prize it entails, a couple of millions each .  _

__

_ He grunts a half hearted “nothing,” at me, not taking his eyes of the road even for a second, so I leave it alone, and watch the city lights out the passenger window .  _

__

_ It’s well past two a.m. when I catch the Continental out the corner of my eye.  _

__

_ It’s been raining, on and off for hours, and the air it’s chilly when I open the door of the mustang.  _

__

_Inside is warm and clean, as usual. I wonder if they will mind the occasional drop of blood that falls from my side and splatters on the tiles beneath my feet. _

__

_ John turns to me and I toss him a coin. The concierge greets me with his usual `miss´ before my last name and throws a polite smile my way. I nod in response, skipping our habitual small talk. I'm too tired.  _

__

_ When John's done getting the rooms he hands me a key, but his hand stays on mine.  _

__

_ “Come,” He demands more than asks, now that we’re in the safety of stony walls and its unbreakable set of rules, which we’ve paid for with golden coins .  _

__

_ “Come where?” I ask, a bit confused.  _

__

_ “I’ll patch you up. That’s a nasty wound,” He points at the stain of blood in my shirt, and my hand that’s trying to contain the blood.  _

__

_ “Since when do you know anything about patching people up?” I always thought he could only inflict pain, not fix it.  _

__

_ “It comes with the job.” He replies in a shrug.  _

__

_ “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m tired, and I  just want to have a drink and sleep this whole day off.”  _

__

_ He says nothing again, he doesn’t even move an inch, but his eyes beg me. They’re not gloomy anymore, but tired and pleading.  _

__

_ “Fine,” I answer; rolling my eyes so hard they might stay on the back of my head. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, but he seems stranger than usual, if that’s even possible.  _

__

_ Ten minutes later I’m sitting on a chair in his room. I toss my black leather jacket on the floor and he rolls up my shirt,  just enough to leave the wound visible. He’s got cold fingers and I shiver a little at the motion.  _

__

_ He gives me a bottle full of scotch, twenty-one years old, aged in the finest woods, from which he takes the occasional swig too while he works . _

__

_ It helps with the pain, but I still wince every time he pushes the needle and surgical thread through my swollen skin . _

_ He grins a little at every one of my exaggerated expressions, and by the end I’m already a bit buzzed so I keep on the theatrics  just to see that small smile .  _

__

_ His eyes are deep brown and I am amazed at the focus in them.  Maybe it’s the whisky talking but I could stare at them all day.  He’s closing the final stitch and his hair is tickling my exposed ribs, so close now that I can even feel his breath on my skin .  _

__

_ I have no idea where it comes from or why, but my hand goes to remove the strand of hair from his face, right behind his ear, and it touches his bruised cheek .  _

__

_ He stares at me then, with an intensity that he often reserves for his hardest kills. It should be an unsettling thought, but it’s not. Something softens then, and he closes his eyes for a moment, leaning further into the palm of my hand.  _

__

_ His action starts a fire inside my veins, traveling all through me and making me dizzier than the alcohol. Or  perhaps it's a combination of both.  _

__

_ “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I lean and whisper in his ear. It feels weird, good weird to be this close to him. I never allowed myself to give much thought to this, but now, under the yellow light of his nightstand table, on this night, I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to kiss him, to be with him... _

__

_ “You almost died today,” He answers, getting up from the chair he occupied next to me.  _

__

_ “It comes with the job,” I retort, throwing his words back at him in a lousy attempt at humor.  _

__

_ He paces around the room and finally settles on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t seem too amused at my words. “I’m serious,” He grunts on his usual manner.  _

__

_ “That’s what we do Jonathan. It’s not the first, I bet it won’t be the last.”  _

__

_ Somewhere deep down, I know how he feels, because  I feel it too each time he comes back a little more broken than the last.  _

__

_ Maybe I’m lying to myself, and I have thought about this before, but it was too complicated to ever bring up and I  just let it rot away on my insides, until tonight .  _

__

_ I walk to stand in front of him, but his eyes  are glued to the floor.  _

__

_“Hey,” I say, lifting his chin so he looks at me. My fingers linger on his face and he makes no attempt to get rid of the touch. _

__

_ In fact, his rough, bloody hand reaches for mine, as he stands towering over me.  _

__

_ To see him this vulnerable it’s frightening, in a good way I suppose. This man is the stuff of legends and here he is in front of me letting me see his weakest moments.  _

__

_ There’s something cold, hard about him, or at least that’s what I always saw. But right now he’s flesh and bone like me.  _

__

_ I let my hand wander then, on his face, tugging his hair behind his ear again, and I close the distance between us until we’re a mere inch apart . All I can see is brown eyes and pink lips, and a bruised cheekbone that flinches  slightly when I ran thumb over it.  _

__

_He finishes what I started, and brushes his lips on mine, soft and heavenly. It’s slow, agonizingly slow, but also intoxicating.  Then it gets harder, more urgent, and next thing I know I’m pushing him into the bed, falling over him. He rolls over me, and kisses me like no one ever has, the perfect mixture of rough and gentle, biting me lightly in between. He tastes like whisky, and something else I can’t put my finger on, but it’s delicious. _

__

_ Suddenly he stops, and I can  barely catch my breath but I don’t want to stop  _

__

_ “Not like this,” He tells me then, panting and not at all convinced.  _

__

_ “Not like what?” I inquire. _

__

_ “Drunk and bloodied.”  _

__

_ “We’re almost always one of those things,” I laugh. _

__

_He kisses me again then, and I can barely open my eyes enough to undo his tie, to fight my way through a row of buttons and fabric. He stops for a second to discard his black shirt and then he’s pulling mine over my head. His hands roam, touching everything they find on their way, and if I wasn’t drunk from the whiskey, I’m drunk on him now. _

__

_ His eyes are dark, and the muscles on his arms tense over me as he leans to find my lips once more. It dawns on me how much I have wanted this, and I hope it never ends.  _

__

_ The shrill ringing of the phone startle us and I fucking hate whoever is calling at this hour. We ignore it, as much as we can, but by the 5th time it rings, he grunts in discontent and goes to answer.  _

__

_ The tattoos on his back move as he picks up the phone, he’s all muscle and scars and ink, and I’m thinking I  really ,  really fucking hate whoever called right now .  _

__

_ His voice is low as he murmurs a “yeah,” to the person on the other end  _

__

_ … _

__

_ “I’m… busy. Can this wait?”  _

__

_ … _

__

_ “Tell him I’m on my way.”  _

__

_ He hangs up the phone, and sighs as he turns to me. He looks deflated, and he walks to where his shirt landed on the floor.  _

__

_ “I have to go.”  _

__

_ “Everything ok?” I ask, failing to conceal my disappointment.  _

__

_ “Winston wants to talk to me.”  _

__

_ “Well, work is work,” I answer, forcing a smile.  _

__

_ “Stay,” He says, catching my hand on his. “Please,” he whispers, as if I needed more convincing.  _

__

_ I nod.  _

__

_ But when he comes back a couple of hours later, he's greeted by an empty room.  _

**

An alarm goes off somewhere and it takes me out from my thoughts. I shake my head, as if the movement could erase the unprompted memories. The boogeyman himself it’s sitting on my couch and my idiotic brain chooses this moment to reminisce. 

“So, she died," I mumble, trying to get back on track "But that’s not why you’re here,” I say, clearing my throat. 

“No,” He answers, eyes lost somewhere I can’t see, as he sips on the amber liquid in his glass. 

I stare at him, forcing him to stare back, already anticipating the whirl of chaos that’s about to descend upon me as I utter the words . 

“What’s the favor?” 


	2. A simple answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is following this, I'm so sorry for taking so long but it was finals week and I was swamped, but that's over now and I'm back to full time fangirling. Anyway, I know I said it would be a chapter per movie but if I did that, I'd have to write 10k long chapters and it would take much longer to post them so, I think there will be 2-3 chapters per movie (hopefully 2). There's some smut (very vanilla and not very explicit at all, I just want to be super careful with warnings), and it's my first time writing anything remotely sexual so if it sucks, I apologize. I promise next chapter will be much more focused in John/reader/oc relationship, I just kind of needed to get things moving. Italics mean flashbacks, there's no one beta reading this so expect mistakes, and... I think that's my rant for the day, enjoy!

 

****

**_ 3 years earlier _ **

__

_ The gunshot still rings in my ears and it’s followed by the usual thud of bones and flesh on the ground, then silence. I stop to catch my breath, and I know that no matter how much I do it, I will never get used to it.  _

__

_ So much death takes something from you. It was far more bearable when John was around but I’m happy he’s out, I’m happy he's found someone to love and who loves him.  _

__

_ Still, if I believed in hell I would have earned it for sure by now.  _

__

_ The sun is setting when the doors of the continental greet me.  _

__

_ I walk the hallway to the front desk, and the sunbeams touch me as I pass the windows, flooding the room in golden light.  There are some people around, minding their own business as usual; reading the paper or looking at their phones . Even after all this time it still blows my mind how casual we’ve all become to the market of death.  _

__

_ “Long time no see,” A silky voice calls behind me and I recognize it immediately.  _

__

_ I turn to meet her steel blue eyes, heavy with eyeliner.  _

__

_ “Perkins”  _

__

_ “Come, have a drink with me. Let’s catch up”  _

__

_ Her invitation seems odd; we’re not exactly friends. Acquaintances at best, but I guess there are worse ways to kill time.  _

__

_ “Sure why not”  _

__

_ “You look like shit,” she points out once we’re both sitting at the bar, drinks in hand. It’s hard to take offense, looking at my muddy boots and the jeans that have more holes than fabric at this point. Serves me right for bringing a gun to a knife fight I guess.  There are thick stains of blood in my gray shirt but for once, not even a drop is mine, although I do have a few bruises that I can feel swelling by the minute .  My only saving grace is the ever-present black leather jacket that has been  surprisingly spared through years of jobs .  _

__

_ “You’re an asshole,” I reply, but she  just smiles, urging me to say something else, so I comply.  _

__

_ “Tonight was harder than other jobs. There are usually  just one or two people to… deal with. I wasn’t expecting five dudes. I don’t know,  maybe I’m  just getting old.” _

__

_ “Not so fun being number one huh?”. Look at me; I don’t move a finger for less than two millions. And I never deal with more than one person”  _

__

_ “See, that’s the thing, I don’t make  just two millions,” My voice is dripping in disdain, and also truth. I wouldn’t have sold my soul for two measly millions a piece. “Besides, I don’t like competition. Open contracts are not my deal anymore.”  _

__

_ “ Maybe you could use a partner, you know, someone to have your back,” She answers, unfazed by my obvious discomfort with this conversation .  _

__

_ I know what she means, and it’s not subtle. I scoff at her. _

__

_ “You’re gonna watch my back? I don’t know, sounds like a risk I don’t want to take”  _

__

_ “Look, you’re making more than anyone else, more than enough to last you 3 life times. Why not share a bit? You could introduce me to your clients, share the load, we'll split it  however you want”  _

__

_ “I thought you didn’t move a finger for less than two millions. You’ve never been a team player Perkins, and neither am I.” _

__

_ “You were once.” _

__

_ “And it didn’t exactly worked out.”  _

__

_ She opened her mouth to say something else, but I never got to hear what it was.  _

__

_ “Excuse me, miss?” Said the concierge, tapping me  lightly on the shoulder. He’s always had a knack for interrupting things, and this time it’s  fully appreciated.  _

__

_ “Yes, Charon?”  _

__

_ “There’s someone expecting you. Your client, he said to tell you he was here, and to let you know he’d be waiting for you whenever you’re ready to see him.”  _

__

_ “Thank you, I’ll be there in a minute,” I smile at him and he nods before walking away.  _

__

_ “Looks like work is calling. Nice talking to you Perkins.” I said, emptying my glass in one swig and picking my jacket from the chair.  _

__

_ “Hey… think about it!” She yells as I walk away from her.  _

__

_ The elevator dings as it reaches the 4th floor, doors opening right into the spacious living room of the best suite in the place . The light is dim as I enter the room, looking for the figure of one of NY’s most powerful men.  _

__

_ “Buona notte, bella” His voice carries across the room with a thick accent, smooth and deep. I see now he waits on a chair facing the window. He’s got a flair for the dramatic, and I don’t actually mind it that much. Keeps things less grim, I suppose.  _

__

_ “Santino,” I greet him, walking  slowly to where he sits. He smiles at me, and points at the chair next to his.  He pours me a glass of the red wine that sits on the coffee table between us, more expensive than this room and  just as exquisite .  _

__

_ “How did everything go?” _

__

_ “It went” I retort, and he stares a bit too long at my bloodied shirt.  _

__

_ “The job  is done ,” I say in reassurance “It’s not mine,” I continue, grabbing my shirt by the red stains that have acquired the color of the wine in my glass .  _

__

_ “Good” He answers, and there’s something in his green eyes that pierces through me. I move to stand by the window, staring at the city lights. I hear his chair moving and then  I feel his warmth as he stands behind me. _

__

_ “Now that business  is done …” he whispers the words in that smooth voice of his that wraps around me like a whirl of smoke, “…we should celebrate”  _

__

_I turn to face him, leaving NY behind, and I meet green eyes that glimmer in the silver light of the moon and the city. A smile dances on my lips at the sight of his mane of curls that fall unruly over the top of his head.  I always promise myself it will be the last and I always fail; he has this sway over me that I can’t quite comprehend. _

__

_ He waits  patiently as I stare at him, like he’s asking me for permission, which has to be hard for someone that seldom hears the word no .  _

__

_ A soft smile rises on his lips when I slide the jacket off his shoulders; the silk lining swishing on it’s way to the floor. There’s a stark contrast between the pristine white shirt he wears and the gray mess of mine, but he doesn’t seem to care.  _

__

_ He kisses me then,  violently , grabbing the back of my head on his hands, sloppy, intense, as all kisses should be. My hands bury in his curls, and he presses me against the window so hard I’m afraid it will break.  _

__

_ Then it’s his turn to toss the jacket from my shoulders and into a chair,  barely catching his breath before we’re again at each other’s lips . We repeat the motions until one by one  all of our clothes are off.  _

__

_ There’s few things that feel so  sinfully good as Santino’s hands all over me, on my breasts, on my back, and finally on my ass as he carries me to his bed . _

__

_ Despite his slender frame there’s muscles underneath,  perfectly sculpted and when he leans over me it triggers memories of a past that I’d rather not remember .  _

__

_ I press on, demanding him between my legs if only to forget that someone else made me feel this way before, and that he’s out in the world sharing the life I refused with another .  _

__

_ And like that, I let Santino fuck me into oblivion, where there are no more memories of Jonathan or death or anything else .  _

__

_ When I wake up there’s complete silence, and it’s still dark outside. The gentle breathing of the man next to me is the only sound in a city that never sleeps. He looks so peaceful, and I almost forget there’s a monster within. But am I not one too?  _

__

_ The instinct to flee it’s like second nature at this point. I never stay and he never mentions anything, until it happens again. Not that it has happened many times, but still.  _

__

_ I try get up in silence but the slight movement wakes him up, and he stirs on the bed, stretching like a cat as he yawns.  _

__

_ “You don’t have to leave, bella, come on, stay tonight,” He says as he pulls me  softly back to the bed _

__

_ “I  probably shouldn’t”  _

__

_ “Why not?”  _

__

_ “ I think we’ve mixed business with pleasure enough as it is Santino” _

__

_ “So?”  _

__

_ “I don’t want to shit where I eat.”  _

__

_ He tries not to frown at my words, and in someone else’s mouth he’d  surely call them vulgar, cause they are. But I can’t will myself to care. _

__

_ Instead, he crawls to where I’m sitting on the edge of his bed.  _

__

_ “You're so blunt all the time. I like it,” He mumbles on my neck, sending shivers down my spine.  _

__

_ “Stay, please,” _

__

_ Those words ring a bell and I swallow hard. I don’t know why I still feel guilty after all this time, for wanting this so bad, for the choice of company.  Guilty for enjoying something so dark, and most of all for knowing that I wish it was John instead sleeping next to me, asking me to stay like way back when .  _

__

_ But Perkins is right. It does get lonely at the top and I’m tired of fighting it. Even if it's with Santino.  _

__

_ “Fine,” I give in as I lay back down, falling asleep sooner than I thought, pressed between silk sheets and an Italian mob boss .  _

__

Now

“So what’s the favor?” 

He buries his head between his hands, turning to me only when the words have lingered in the air a bit too long for comfort . I know he’s hurting, it’s evident in the way he carries himself, and I hate seeing him like this. 

He finally takes a deep breath,  slowly grabbing the will to speak from his tired lungs 

“I need you to promise me something,” His words are brittle and low, like the look in his brown eyes.

“You came all the way to the city for a promise?” I inquire with a furrowed brow. 

“It’s complicated,” He tells me as mysterious as usual, always fighting to get words out, like it pains him to use his voice. 

“ Just … say it,” This is my least favorite thing about him, how hard is to rip a full sentence out of him. 

“Yesterday someone broke into my house. They stole my car” 

My eyes widen against my will, pondering who’d be stupid enough to steal John Wick’s car, but I try my hand at being rational as I answer .

“So, buy another car. It was a bit creepy how much you loved that mustang,” 

“That’s something Helen would say,” He answers, a hint of a smile flashing on his face, almost too fast to catch. 

“She’d be right,” it’s all I manage. 

“It’s not just the car...” He sighs  deeply , grabbing his face once more, like he’s trying to rub the weariness from his face. 

"After Helen died, I got a package from her, the very night I buried her. It was a dog, a puppy. She said I needed someone to love, and I should start with the dog.”

I’m waiting for him to continue but no more words leave his lips, leaving me to connect the dots. 

“Oh god they killed the dog didn’t they?” 

“Yeah” 

He’s  clearly lost somewhere between pain and anger, and I don’t know which I prefer.  Maybe it’s neither. Truth is, doing what we do, what he did, requires a cool mind. It was never personal, until now. 

I plop on the couch next to him, throwing my head back against the cushions. 

“So what do we do now?” 

“I need you to promise me that if they kill me you’ll finish what I started,” He answers, swallowing the last sip of scotch in his glass . 

“For gods sake John who exactly are you going after? Do you even know who did it?” 

“Are you still working with Viggo?” 

“On occasion …Viggo stole your car?” 

“His son” 

Of course,  no one else would be that stupid . 

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” He looks at me again, and I have to fight the urge to hug him. He seems so broken that I can’t help but feel a little broken with him. There is nothing  really I can do, other than what he’s asked, so I give it to him. 

“I promise. But I hope I won’t need to” 

He closes his eyes as he hears the words, and I hope he feels relief. His hand wraps around mine with a squeeze, a tiny gesture that makes me realize how much I’ve  truly missed him. But it goes as fast as it came, and my skin misses his warmth. 

“I could also use a ride.” 

“You got here in a car” 

“Yeah, but it’s too...  obvious ” 

“Are you calling my car boring?” 

“You never had the best taste in cars”

I shake my head, ignoring the jab at my  perfectly normal car. 

“So where are we going?” 

“To find out where Iosef is”

____

“Someone’s been tailing us for the last fifteen minutes” I tell him when I catch a glimpse of the not so subtle black car behind us on the rear view mirror . 

“I know,” He answers, pulling out a gun from somewhere inside his jacket, and my hand instinctively goes to where mine is, tucked inside my jeans . 

We drive around the city for a while trying to lose the car. A while later I can’t see it anymore, but it has to be around somewhere. At least, I figure, we bought ourselves time to walk into the continental. 

We haven’t even reached the stairs when I see movement, and almost  instantly a bullet passes flying by, missing him by an inch . He fires back, three, four rounds, as a shadow runs to the alley behind the building. 

“Go” I tell him “Go talk to Winston, I’ll catch up in a minute. I’ll deal with this” 

He seems dubious but I reassure him as I point to the gun in my pants, and he finally goes through the door. 

The alley behind the hotel is dirty and cluttered; trashcans and other debris are lying around, leaving plenty of room for someone to hide . 

I have a feeling that I know exactly who's behind this. 

I stand next to a discarded refrigerator when I hear labored breathing on the other side, loud enough to guess their next move . Breathe and exhale, in and out. 

I fire a single shot to the ground and she comes out snarling, but before she gets a chance to do anything, I hit her hard in the throat . She loses her gun in the process, and as she falls to her knees I lock my arm around her neck and pick up her weapon. 

She’s strong and she struggles to get free, until she feels the cold metal of a gun pressed against her temple. 

“Why are you here?” I demand, shaking her. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” She laughs, but she chokes on her own breath when I tighten my grip on her windpipe. 

“I would and you’re going to tell me right now. I will not hesitate and you know that.” 

“Why don’t you ask your boss?” She spits out.

“Cut the shit. How much?” I say, pressing the gun harder to her head. 

“2 millions” 

“Nice talking to you Perkins,” I say, letting go of her in a swift motion that leaves her panting on the ground. 

Winston is sitting in his usual table, and if I wasn’t standing on a seedy speakeasy under the guts of the continental, I could confuse him for a grandpa doing his taxes . 

John is talking to him,  seemingly about to leave the table when they notice me. 

“Jonathan why don’t you have a drink and relax a little? For now,” Those are the words I catch as I approach them, and I can feel Winston’s eyes inspecting me  carefully . 

“So what’s going on?” I say, looking over both of them.

“Jonathan was about to go get himself a drink,” Winston answers, motioning to the bar. 

“Great, I’ll come with,” I reply 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a word with you,” He says, eyeing me like a dad that’s about to scold his child. 

John looks at me, eyebrows raised, and I nod, offering him a small smile. Even with all the grief and the weight of the world on his shoulders he hasn’t changed at all. He still has that hold over me, unbreakable. He’s still my best friend. 

He walks away, and I can’t take my eyes off of his dark figure. 

If I could only turn back time…

The sound of Winston clearing his throat takes me out of my thoughts, and I turn to him, rolling my eyes. 

“All right, what’s up?” 

I pull the chair out and sit in front of him, tapping my fingers in the hard wood of the table. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, taking off his glasses and running his hand through his dark hair. 

“I'm  just helping an old friend,” I say in the most innocent voice I can conjure, as I  suddenly pretend to be very interested in my nails . 

He tilts his head, raising a single eyebrow and widening his hard blue eyes. 

“You realize what he’s trying to do right? What it means? There are no gray areas here, either you’re in or you’re out.” 

“He’s a big boy. He knows the consequences.” I answer, glancing at John. 

“Does he? Do you? Viggo is your biggest client. Not to mention that Santino is going to have a field day with this.” 

“Santino doesn’t have to know.” 

“Oh  I think the trail of bloody corpses will alert him soon enough.” 

“So what?” 

“So he’s got Jonathan’s marker. You know that.” 

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” 

“Can you?” 

“I will,” I snap at him,  maybe because I’m trying to convince myself that I can. 

“Ok then, you know the rules.” 

“I do. Thanks” 

I leave the table and make my way to John, but he’s already walking towards me with a napkin in his hand. 

“He’s at the red circle,” He whispers, and I’m not sure if he’s telling himself or me. 

I turn back to Winston, and sure enough he’s raising his glass to us. And when I look away, somewhere in the darkness of the place, I can see Perkins’s steely eyes fixed on me. 

“By the way, Viggo has a contract on you, two millions”

“Thank you” He tells me as we walk out of the place and into the open night air. 

“I haven’t done anything yet John. Not enough for a thank you anyway” 

“You have done more than you imagine,” He answers, his husky monotone breaking for a second, like a tiny crack on his otherwise hard exterior . 

The night air is chilly, and it blows on his hair as he stares at me with deep brown eyes. I swallow hard because there are no words to describe how much I’ve missed him and how  desperately I want to help him. That’s why we worked as a team, because when I was around him I felt invincible, and that’s why it never worked with Perkins. 

Life is so different now. He moved on, and so did I, but it still feels like it did back then. 

There’s so many things I’d like to say to him, but I can’t. 

“So, the red circle then?”  I ask him, trying to drown all my other thoughts, as I start walking to my car that’s parked on the corner, but he doesn’t move an inch . 

“I can’t take you there, I have to do this myself. It’s personal” 

“It wasn’t personal 3 hours ago when you asked me to finish this if they killed you” 

“That’s  just an extra precaution,” He answers looking at the horizon, avoiding my gaze. 

“And, if you fuck up and get killed it will be personal for me too. You know that right?”

“Yeah” 

“Take my car,” I demand, pushing the keys in his hand, “And don’t fail. Please.” 

“I won’t.” 

I always hated saying goodbye to him, so instead I hug him, as hard as I can. He’s startled for a second, but then he hugs me back so hard that I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and I know this is where we part ways, at least for now. 

“Good luck Jonathan,” I say, stepping back and trying my best not to  be betrayed by my fragile voice. 

He smiles  faintly and I watch him walk away, leaving a thick silence behind that it’s only broken by the ringing of my phone long after he’s gone . 

“Hello?” 

“Buona sera, amore”


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, somehow longer and not as good as previous chapters, but here we are at last! With this chapter we reach the end of the first movie, and we'll be moving on to Italy and all the events of the second movie. There's major drama, angst and violence coming in the next one, hopefully you'll like it. Also, there will be a time jump because I want to write "current" time romance for John but I'm sure he wouldn't be over Helen in a week or two so maybe I'll jump ahead a couple of months, nothing too big. I'm also thinking of doing part of the next chapter from John's POV, but I'm not sure yet. There's smut (again, vanilla and not explicit, just being cautious, but I might dabble in something more explicit in further chapters, idk). As always, italics are flashbacks, I don't have a beta reader so expect errors and please, enjoy!

 

** A few years earlier **

_ There’s a knock on my door, slow and steady. My heart skips a beat, because nobody knows this address, not a soul.  _

__

_ I peek through the blinds and I see John, not in his typical suit and tie but wearing jeans and a white shirt. His hair messy around his face as usual and his beard seems to have grown beyond his control.  _

__

_ We haven’t talked since that night a little over two weeks ago. I know I should have stayed, I should’ve waited for him but I  was terrified . _

__

_ Fragile as it is, I have accomplished a life where I have things under control, and the slightest change could crumble that delicate balance .  _

__

_ There’s a price that comes with this life, and it means being alone. That’s why we are so perfect for it, because there’s no one left we love, no one that can  be used against us in any situation.  _

__

_ The seconds drag on while I try to decide if I should open the door or not. I could pretend not to be home at all, but I finally decide against it and I open the heavy door with a sigh.  _

__

_ “Jonathan,” I greet him, gesturing for him to come on in. He rushes past me, pacing in the room as I close the door, reaching a halting stop in front of me when I turn back to him.  _

__

_ “You left,” he spits out in a hurry like the words were drowning him. His candor surprises me; I thought we’d bury that night like I’ve buried my feelings for so long.  _

__

_ “It’s  probably for the best,” I whisper even though I don’t mean it at all.  _

__

_ “Is it?” he asks. _

__

_ “There’s a reason we’re alone,” I answer, but there are butterflies inside me going wild, demanding that I take it back.  _

__

_ “I don’t care.”  _

__

_ “It’s too risky. For both of us.” I try to reason, more with myself than him.  _

__

_ “I’ll take my chances.”  _

__

_ He’s  really close now, cornering me against the door behind me, but I don’t mind.  _

__

_ “What are you doing?” I ask him, looking up to his brown eyes.  _

__

_ “What do you think I’m doing?” he answers in a low voice.  _

__

_ “Something we’ll regre…” I start, but then I’m interrupted.  _

__

_ He crashes in to me, his lips on mine biting and licking and all the things that take my breath away. I give in and grab his face on my hands, urging him keep going, to stay close.  _

__

_ I can feel his hair tickling my face, and his heart beating against mine like we’re  just one. He moves to kiss my cheeks, my neck, and I slide my hands down his shoulders. His arms are pure hard muscle, and at last I release the breath I had been holding since he walked through my door.  _

__

_ He whispers my name and I melt at the sound. Right now I don’t care about the consequences. Only the possibilities exist, of him and his husky voice breathing my name. Of his skin against mine. I kiss him again as hard as I can because I will never get enough of this, of his taste on my lips and his hands on my body.  _

__

_ We stop for a second and I grab him by the shirt, pulling him to my bedroom. He smiles at me, a full smile that rises to his eyes, cheeky, and he bites his lips stifling a laugh.  _

__

_ Once we’re in I walk up to him, and I’m the one that crashes into him this time. It's sudden and desperate, a kiss that's trying to make up for all the lost time.  _

__

_I run my fingers playfully on the hem of his shirt, lifting it slightly, and he responds by taking it off in a swift motion.  I do the same and before I know it he’s pushing me to the bed, kissing me fiercely again, all hunger and lust. _

__

_ I reach for the button of his pants, and I can already feel him through his jeans, the thought sending something hot rolling down my stomach . He gets rid of them  quickly , kicking them away along with his boots. I can’t take another second so I remove my own pants and he looks at me with his brown eyes that are darker than ever.  _

__

_ Then the final pieces of clothing between us get discarded, and he pushes in to me  violently , making me shiver . It’s rough and fast and I love this feeling, his skin on mine, his dark eyes, his breathing on my face. It's almost too much to bear.  _

__

_ Then he slows down, something softening in his gaze, and he runs his hands all over me, over every scar and imperfection . _

__

_ It’s even wilder than before, the way he makes me feel, like something warm it’s traveling through my veins and filling all the empty spaces in my heart .  _

__

_ My hands respond in the same way, touching every inch of muscle and scar tissue, some fresh and some hardened by time .  I want to stay in this moment forever, where him and I are one single thing brought together by more than  just violence and death .  _

__

_ We stay at it for hours, lost in each other, and when the morning comes and I wake up, he’s still tangled in my arms, and I can only hope that this was not a dream .  _

__

 

** Present day  **

 

“Hello Santino,” I answer, and I know what this call is about. 

“I heard your friend is back in town,” the voice on the other side of the phone says, “an interesting turn of events, for sure.” 

“He’s passing through.” 

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” 

I want to say something else, but I’m out of excuses. I thought he’d take longer to notice, at least one more day. Then again, John is anything but subtle. 

The roaring of a car engine distracts me as it stops  abruptly right in front of me. 

“I’ll call you later. And if I don’t, come find me” I say as I hang up the phone, trusting that he knows what I mean. 

My hand goes to find my gun but before I can even attempt to grab it, there’s already four guys pointing at me through the now open windows of the car . 

I can see Viggo’s head on the back seat, sheltered by his usual set of guards whose guns are pointing at my head. 

“We need to talk,” he says, an air of weariness flooding his face. His words prompt one of his men to open the door with a menacing gesture towards me. 

There’s no use in resisting, I am very much outnumbered and the only outcome if I try to fight it will be a bullet in my skull. 

“Okay,” I answer as I enter the car. 

We drive for a while in complete silence, and when I’m tempted to break the silence he sighs  heavily , rubbing his forehead with his hand . If I was capable of any empathy towards these people, I’d feel sorry for him, because I know what’s coming his way. But he did it to himself. 

“You must know by now the whole ordeal with my son,” he says  slowly . 

“Yes, it was hard to miss,” I answer pursing my lips. 

“We have a good thing going, you and I, don’t you think? Good  business .” 

“We do, yes.” 

“So, what will it take for you to deal with this?” he asks looking right at me for the first time since I got on the car. 

I can’t believe he’d ask me this;  maybe the stupidity of his son is rubbing off on him. 

“There are rules, and you knew them before we started. I get to say no whenever I want. I work with you but I’m not your employee. And I don’t do open contracts.” 

He inspects me with narrow eyes, and then he turns away. 

“Eight million. That’s double what I offered anyone,” he speaks again, this time with a cold certainty that I hate. 

“I’m not for sale.” 

“Ten millions,” he insists with an annoyed tone, like he’s doing me a favor by bargaining for the life of someone I love. 

“Still not for sale.” 

His jaw clenches and he looks at me again with ice blue eyes. I’m not afraid of him but  maybe I should. I can’t blame him; he’s  just doing what I would for the people I love. 

“I could kill you right now and no one would know,” His words are cold like his eyes, and I’d  be inclined to believe him. I know he would. But he can’t. 

“Could you? Want to give it a shot?” I urge him with a smile, rubbing my gun. 

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at me, but he knows there’s nothing he can do, at least not right now. 

“I must at least ask you to not intervene,” he says then. 

The car reaches a full stop  suddenly in the middle of the street, and I realize we’re back outside the continental. 

“Fair enough.” I say as I lean to open the door, but he catches my wrist on his hand, hard enough to bruise. 

“If you were to tip the scales on his favor… There will be consequences.” 

I know he means it but I  just swallow hard and shake his hand off my wrist. 

“Sure” 

The street is dark and empty as I watch the car drive away with a screeching sound. All I want is this nightmare of a day to be over. 

“Well, hello there. Long time no see,” I hear a deep voice behind me. It startles me enough that before I know I have my gun pointing at the owner of the voice. 

He lifts his hands in surrender and smiles at me. 

“Oh for fucks sake is it reunion day? What are you doing here Marcus?” 

“Same as you,  I think … Helping an old friend.” 

“Yeah,  I think he doesn’t need our help.” 

“You’d  be surprised . Was that Viggo’s car you  just got out of?” 

“He offered me money to off John” 

“How much?” 

“Ten millions” 

“He offered me two. I’m  officially offended” 

“I guess he thought ex girlfriend beats mentor” 

He smirks at me, but immediately trades his attention to the street across from the hotel. 

"So... want to join me?" He asks, walking to the brick building in front of us. 

"Not tonight Marcus," I answer, "but if you need me you know where to find me.” 

“Will do.” 

“If he makes it through the night,” I add as I start to walk away. 

“Are you doubting John?” 

“I was talking about Iosef.” 

Santino insists that I come by his place, and I’m too tired to oppose him so he sends a car to get me. By the time I get to his luxurious apartment I’m hoping he’ll be asleep. I don’t want to answer the slew of questions I know he’ll ask me, but there’s no such luck. 

He’s standing by the window when I enter the living room, watching the city beneath us. 

His steps are slow as he approaches me, a half smirk on his lips and fire in his eyes. 

"How was your day?" he whispers in my ear. 

"It was all right," I reply, 

"And how was your visitor?" he inquires, tucking a lose strand of hair behind my ear, grazing my neck with soft fingers. 

"He  just stopped by to arrange some things in the city." I say closing my eyes, enjoying the touch. 

"Business? Or  pleasure ?" his tone changes from sweet to apprehensive, and there's a primal part of me that delights in his envy. 

"Are you jealous?" 

"With you, always bella," 

"You don’t have to be," I assure him, trying hard to believe it. 

"You should  just move here." he says as he kisses me. 

"I like my apartment." 

" Maybe you  just like the memories," His voice turns cold and he walks away. 

He's right, I do miss the memories. John moved on, he wasn't thinking of me when he married someone else, when he built a life away from me. 

Maybe I should move on too. 

Next morning the ding of my phone wakes me up, a single message flashing in the blue screen. It’s an address. 

Santino looks at me with his big green eyes as I spring out of bed in a hurry. 

"I have to go," I tell him, 

"To him, right?" the disappointment of his voice is evident. 

"He’d do it for me," Is all I can answer. 

He grabs my hand on his, and kisses my knuckles. 

"Whatever you have to do, go do it. And then you come back to me, knowing that here’s where you want to be,  bella ." 

"I will be back. I promise." 

"I know you will." 

**

The smoke rises from the fire inside the old church. John must be near here somewhere, but I can’t see him. I know I have to run when I see  multiple black vans speeding down the street. 

I look around, inspecting every building, nook and cranny of the streets searching for John but I don’t see him anywhere . I recognize the people in the vans, Viggo and his guys.  They're already disposing of a  meekly looking priest outside the church, right in the middle of the street . 

While  I consider my options someone yanks me into an alley. 

“What are you doing?” Marcus asks me, a bewildered look on his face 

“You texted me to come here. What are you doing? Where’s John?” I reply 

The gunshots slicing through the morning air interrupt whatever he was going to say, but the sound in itself it’s the answer to my question . I look at Marcus for a second and as I’m about to run to where the shots are being fired he stops me, grabbing me by the shoulder. 

“Don’t do that.” 

“We have to help him.” 

“If Viggo sees us he’ll know we betrayed him, and then everything will get harder for John and for us.” 

“I am not gonna stay here watching how they murder him.” 

“Hey, I said they shouldn’t see us, not that we wouldn’t do something about it.” 

“What are you talking about,” I answer.

“You have to trust me okay?”

There’s screeching of tires and  suddenly the gunshots stop. We peek out the corner of the alley and what I see makes my blood run cold. They’re loading John’s limp body into one of the cars. 

We follow the van, always a few cars behind, trying to not  be spotted , and I can’t stop fidgeting with the gun in my hand. Marcus eyes me from the driver’s seat, and he knows what I’m thinking. 

Finally we stop outside an old building. I’m anxious to get inside, every moment I waste could mean his death and I can’t fathom a world where John doesn’t exist. Marcus stops me with a look and I sigh. 

“Okay, so what do we do?” I ask him.

He widens his eyes and looks up to the top of the building across the street smiling. 

We’re perched on the roof, sniper rifles in hand and I’m eager to take the shot and end this whole thing but I know I have to wait for the perfect moment . They have him tied to a chair and for the first time in my years of knowing John I know he’s going to die if I don’t do something. I won’t have that. 

Viggo is talking to him, giving him one of his customary speeches before pulling the trigger I assume. Or before he orders someone else to do it because he has never had the gut for it, the need to get his hands dirty. 

They’re beating the shit out of him too, and it takes  all of my restraint not to do something right now.  I want to give in to the rage burning inside my veins, to the pain  I feel as he takes another hit like he’s an extension of my own flesh and blood . 

As much as I want to deny it, I know that my heart still beats for him like it did back then. 

Then finally I know the time has come. Viggo starts to leave and I aim. 

“Not yet.” 

I try to steady my breathing, clenching my jaw so hard I know it will hurt tomorrow. There’s two guys left in the room with John, and they're putting a bag over his head. 

“Now,” Marcus whispers my way, and I focus on the shot. It has to be perfect, and I’ve never been the best at long distance shots. 

Chaos erupts inside the building when Marcus’s bullet catches one of the guys in the head, and he falls to the ground. The other guy has a moment of distraction as he looks for the window where the bullet came through. I take my shot then, the click of the trigger loud in my head. 

I miss. The bullet flies and hits him  slightly on the shoulder, not enough to even make him recoil. But John’s already on the move and fighting back as hard as he can.  I shoot again, and again, but it’s hard to hit a moving target, especially when there’s another body I’m trying to avoid hitting moving with it . 

Finally there’s another chance, he’s on top of John choking him and I fire again. This time it gets him on the leg and it makes him back up long enough for John to find his footing and lock him by the neck. A few moments later it’s done. 

The breath that leaves me as I fall back is pure relief. Marcus falls back too, unwinding the silencer in his rifle and smiling as he puts it away. 

“Wanna grab lunch?” he asks

I laugh a little and nod. 

News travel fast in the underworld, and not two hours after the ordeal I know it’s over. It will never  cease to amaze me how good he is at this. 

I wait in Marcus’s car, glancing  occasionally at the figures of the two men talking by the bridge. I know this will be goodbye, for the last time  probably and it makes me want to cry but I refuse to let myself do it. 

He was  barely back in my life for 24 hours and I’m a mess. I replay in my mind over and over, all the things I should’ve done different. I should have gone with him, far away from here when he offered, but now it’s too late. 

One look at him and I want to scream that I still love him, that I’d go anywhere with him. But it’s not fair. His heart  is broken for someone else, and it will be for a long time. And I made my choice a long time ago so I have to let him go. 

Breathe deep I tell myself, once, twice, as much as it takes to will my glassy eyes to go dry again. 

I pull out my cellphone, and I write a text hoping against hope that it will make me feel better.  “I’m coming home,”  I write, and the bold black letters give me some peace  “there’s  just one last thing I have to do. See you tonight.” 

Santino’s answer comes fast and I at least feel some comfort at the thought of him. 

“I’ll be waiting for you, bella.” 

Marcus signals me, and I know it’s time. I open the door of the car, and the afternoon wind makes me feel calm. I walk to John and stand beside him, not quite looking at him but at the silvery city in front of us, across the bridge. 

“Thank you. I know what you guys did for me,” he says looking at me but I can’t bring myself to stare back. 

“It was  mostly Marcus,” I answer, because it’s true “You know I suck at long distance shots.” 

“Yeah, that was never your strong suit,” he says, the shadow of a smile curling on his lips. 

“So you’re leaving?” 

He nods at me and I try to summon a smile. 

“I’m very glad I got to see you again Jonathan,” I say, finally turning to him. His brown eyes are sad but they sparkle still, even if it’s for a fleeting moment. 

“Me too,” he replies meeting my gaze. 

There’s nothing more to say, I realize, so I squeeze his arm and I turn to leave. 

“Wait,” He whispers, “your car is on 4th street by that gift shop you liked. The keys are under the hood.” 

“Thanks.” 

“And one last thing.” 

He’s the one that walks to me now, and he puts his arms around me. His lips graze mine, just barely, only for a second on their way to my cheek, but it still feels as good as ever. 

I hug him back so hard  I think it will break me, and we stay like that for a long time. He's not the first to let go. 

“I should go,” I tell him, “It’s getting late.” 

He nods then, and I finally gather enough will to walk away from the man that I loved so many years ago. 

Maybe I still do. 

**

The sun is long gone and I’m still walking to my car, but I’m finally only a couple of blocks away. I’m so consumed in my thoughts that I fail to recognize a car that’s rolling down the street  slowly until it’s too late. I walk faster and the car keeps pace with me so I go to my last resort. 

My gun is in my hand in less than five seconds, and I shoot at whoever sits behind the tinted glass of the windshield. The car loses control and I take my chances at running away. I hear hurried steps behind me; two of the men in the car are now chasing me down the street. I turn to shoot but when I reach the corner there’s another set of men that cut me off. 

I recognize immediately the icy blue eyes that are looking right into my soul. 

“I told you there would be consequences.”

“Fuck,” It’s all I manage before I’m dragged inside a house down the street. 

They say the brain shuts down to spare us from trauma.  I think it’s true, because the more hits I take, the less  I feel . I’m stuck somewhere between consciousness and whatever nightmare this is. But it’s not a nightmare, is it? 

Marcus is sitting across from me, as bloodied as  I feel . 

“You know what will happen if you do this,” I tell Viggo, spitting blood on his shirt. He flinches but doesn’t move away, his smoky breath on my face. 

“I don’t care anymore.  He killed my son and now he’s going to know what it  truly means to lose everything,” He tells me, connecting his fist to my face for the 20th time tonight . 

I guess he does get his hands dirty sometimes.  The pain is no longer registering in my brain so all I can do is laugh a little, and then almost choke on all the blood inside my mouth . 

In the back of the room there’s a familiar face, and I can’t say I’m surprised to see her here. Perkins was always a bit treacherous. But money is money, so I get it. 

Suddenly Marcus stands up and tosses me a gun. I  barely catch it and then there’s chaos everywhere. I shoot, and take down two of the guys, not sure if  fatally but long enough to run. Then a bullet buries inside my chest, and another in my stomach. 

Instead of pain there’s only a burning sensation. I can’t breathe, like someone  just sucked all the air from my lungs. I start shooting at random because anything else it’s too much effort for my failing lungs and then I fall to the floor. 

Then the burning turns to excruciating pain and  suddenly I’m dizzy from trying not to scream my lungs out, because that hurts even more . I’m struggling to breathe, and the room is getting darker and darker. 

I’m cold, and there’s still shouting but who cares?  I try to focus my sight, and all I can see is my hand dyed in red, dripping with sticky liquid, and it smells like death, familiar, stingy . 

I know how this goes, I know what happens next, and yet I can’t believe it. I  just want to close my eyes, to sleep. All I can think about is how I didn’t get to see John again, or Santino. How I won’t even get to say goodbye. 

I hear gunshots in the background but I’m too tired to open my eyes again. Every time I try it takes far too much energy that I can’t bring myself to conjure anymore. 

So this is how it happens. 

Goodbye. 

Then I sleep. 

“Go” I hear a muffled voice say. 

“No” Another voice answers. 

" _Just_ _let me sleep_ ," I think .  


 

“Go and fix this or I will,” Someone says, and now I recognize his thick accent, the contained rage in the smooth honey of his voice . 

I muster all my strength in a gargantuan effort, and I open my eyes. Santino is kneeling beside me and right behind him there’s John. I can see Marcus’s corpse lying on the stairs. There's tears flooding my eyes, blurring the world around. 

John looks at me and I see his brown eyes watering, like mine. I’ve never seen him cry. 

“I’m so sorry” He says, and I want to answer but it hurts. 

My voice comes out wheezy and frail but I at least manage to squeeze it out “He’s going to his helicopter”

The effort is too much and I finally give in to the darkness. 


	4. a surprising offering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I took so long with this update, this is sort of a filler chapter, I just wanted to set things up for what's to come for the next part of this story. I feel like my writing is going downhill lately but hopefully you'll still enjoy it. So, you know the drill, there's no beta for this so mistakes are expected and italics are flashbacks.

 

 

**_Some years ago_ **

_After that night I let myself fall for John. What's the worst that can happen? I tell myself. And it's all bliss for a while, as much as it can be for us. We fuck and talk and laugh, and I feel safe with him. Something was always missing for both of us, and I can only speak for myself, but for the first time in my life, I 'm whole._

_"What are you thinking?" He asks me one day when we're lying next to each other in bed._

_"I think I am happy" I reply running my finger over the bridge of his nose, over his lips and his jaw._

_His lips curl in a soft smile that makes my heart skip a beat. His kiss tastes sweet, and I will never grow tired of it. We've been at this for months now and it still feels like the first time. I stare at him because I want to remember every little detail of his face, of his voice and take it with me forever. I know now that no one else will ever be enough, so I pray I never have to be away from him._

_"I love you," He whispers in my ear with his husky voice, like he's reading my thoughts._

_"I love you too,"_

_Still, there's the ever-present dread that stalks my thoughts, always telling me that I'll regret this, that I don't deserve to be happy, but I do my best to ignore it._

_It has to work out, right?_

_Wrong._

_It's a sunny day, and I'm drenched in sweat. We're outnumbered but we've been outnumbered before. I run across the construction site, trying my best to cover from the bullets that soar through the air in every direction. I'm behind a steel beam, trying to catch my breath, but I hear the noises of the fight still going on. I only give myself five seconds to reload the gun._

_That's all it takes._

_There's a heavy grunt and then the fire stops._

_"Come out wherever you are"_

_  
_

_Fuck_

_I slowly leave my hiding spot, gun in hand. I dread what I will find, but I keep going the few yards that lead to the center of the place. And there, right in front of me, they have John, two men grabbing him by the arms, the third one with a gun to his head._

_The men are struggling to keep him subdued but this is one battle he won't win with pure strength. My brain gets foggy at the sight in front of me; the barrel of the gun pressing on his skull. It might as well be on mine because I can't formulate a single thought right now, a single answer on how to get us out of it._

_His captors have blank looks on their faces, except for the man with the gun, who sports a sickening grin._

_  
_

_"Drop it," He says as he eyes my gun that's still pointing at them._

_  
_

_If I drop it I'm fucked. If I don't I'm still fucked._

_I look at John for a split second, looking for an answer on what I should do, something that takes me out of my paralyzed stupor._

_  
_

_He understands and he glances subtly at one of the men holding him captive. It's small, almost unnoticed but I got my answer._

_My hand starts lowering the gun, agonizingly slow. I'm buying time, and then I catch John's signal._

_The gunshot leaves my gun and it goes to bury on the knee of one of his captors that falls heavily to the ground wincing in pain. John manages to head-butt the man that holds the gun to his head, but the gun still goes off as he falls, leaving a red line in John's temple._

_  
_

_He disposes of the second guy while I finish the one that had the gun to his head, emptying my magazine on his forehead._

_*_

_The silence between us is heavy, loaded with the image of him lying dead, cold in front of me. I can't bear that thought, it sends shivers down my arms and I wrap them around myself so I can get rid of the sensation._

_He could be dead right now, and it would be my fault. I froze, when it mattered the most, when I should have known what to do._

_"I know what you're thinking," He says, glancing at me_

_"Do you?" I reply trying to avoid his eyes._

_"It could happen to anyone."_

_"That's the thing John, this doesn't happen to us, that's why we're the best. This doesn't happen to me, it shouldn't," My voice raises, and it threatens to break beneath the weight of my words._

_He nods_

_"We can't keep taking chances, because someday someone will use the other as bait and we'll both end up dead," I say before my brain has a chance to stop me_

_  
_

_"Tonight we got lucky… and tomorrow who knows? There's a reason this is a lonely job. This is what I knew would happen, why I knew it was a mistake," I continue, giving voice to my fears in the hope that he can tame them or confirm them._

_"What if there's another option," his answer is calm, and it forces me to face him as I squint my eyes._

_"What option?"_

_"You always say you wish you'd gone to art school."_

_  
_

_My laugh comes out but he doesn't laugh with me._

_"Wait, are you serious?"_

_"Shouldn't I?" There's a lightness in his voice that makes it hard to believe he isn't joking._

_"What, you want out?" I say in a mocking tone._

_"Yeah, I want out. Don't you?" He meets my eyes, and there's no joke behind them._

_My eyes widen, I can't believe I'm hearing him say this._

_"Even if we ignore the fact that it's next to impossible to get out, then what are we supposed to do? Get 9 to 5 jobs and start popping kids? Come on Jonathan, this is all we know how to do."_

_"People learn new things every day. We take our savings, move to Italy or France or whatever. You'll paint, and I'll bind books for fun. We'll drink wine into the night and listen to jazz on old record players. And we won't have to worry every waking second about who might be coming to get us."_

_Even if it was feasible, I can't fathom leaving this behind. Not that I don't fantasize about it, but it's all I've ever known. What am I beyond this? I'm not sure I want to find out. I've lived in this bubble for so long, in this place where I am not the exception but the rule that I don't know if I could live with the guilt in the real world, with the burden of a past that's dyed in blood._

_"I can't do that," I tell him, and I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips but they're the truth._

_"Can't? Or won't?" he asks me in a bitter tone._

_"Is there a difference?"_

 

_*_

_We're parked outside my apartment for what feels like hours until the chill of the night starts reaching my skin._

_I don't know what to say anymore. I don't want to say goodbye, I don't want to get out of the car because then it will be real._

_We're both postponing the unavoidable, trying to ignore the fact that we know this is the end._

_My hand shakes as I reach for the handle, and I stop to take one last look at him. I don't know what is going through his head, he seems unfazed by my movement, and this time it's him who's avoiding my eyes._

_There's a small twitch on his lips when I open the door, the only sign that he knows I'm still here. My movements are reluctant but I force myself to get out into the night air._

_"I do love you" I whisper before I close the door._

_"I love you too" I hear him say before the door closes and the sound of the tires screeching in the paved road fills my ears._

_His absence fills everything, every corner of my mind as the months' pile on, one after the other in a dull parade of bleakness. I grew so used to him, to the sound of his voice and the sight of his figure in my life that now it feels like it's empty. There are days when I regret my choices and I get the urge to call him, to beg him to ask me again so I can change my answer._

_Then one day he calls me. I haven't spoken to him since that night, and I never thought I would again. He asks me to meet him for dinner._

_He gives me the address of a small restaurant downtown. All the way there I'm trying to figure out what to do._

_There's a part of me that wants him to take me back so we can run away together to a place where we can be whoever we want and leave all of this behind._

_The other part knows that I can't do that._

_Once we're sitting at a table I see his obvious nervousness. This isn't like him at all, and as he taps his fingers on the tablecloth I speak._

_"Spit it out Jonathan, whatever it is,"_

_"I met someone," He blurts out._

_"Oh," I say, the words not quite registering in my brain._

_"I'm leaving."_

_"You're leaving?" the redundancy it's all that comes out of me. There's something heavy pressing on my chest, making it hard to find more words, to draw breath._

_He nods and looks at me like he's trying to figure out what's going through my head, but even I'm not clear on that myself._

_I'm the nervous one now, and I stare down at my watch as if it contains answers._

_"I have somewhere I need to be John, I'm so sorry, I forgot" I cringe at my own lie but all I know is that I can't stand to be around him one more second._

_I get up and look at him, trying to conjure some words that make sense, any words, unsuccessfully._

_Finally, some sound comes out._

_"I hope… I hope that you've found what you were looking for. Good luck Jonathan."_

_I take a step to leave, but his hand catches mine, and it stops me in my tracks. He's looking at me with those damn brown eyes, disarming as ever._

_  
_

_I close my eyes hard and bite my lip_

_  
_

_"It's okay to let go, John," I whisper, "I'm going to be fine" And with a final squeeze to his hand, I leave the restaurant, thankful for the rain that drowns the tears that are fighting to come out._

 

**Present-day**

 

The next few days are spent drifting in and out of consciousness, the faint beeping of a machine ever-present in my slumber and my waking hours.

 

Breathing hurts and being awake hurts, but they say I'll make it.

 

Santino refuses to leave my side. It's surprising, to say the least, I never thought he'd stay after this, but I guess we all have weaknesses. Maybe I'm his. And even if he doesn't know it, he's one of mine.

 

One morning I wake to hear him outside my room talking to someone.

 

"Haven't you done enough John?" His voice is smooth and rich as always; calm in spite of the rage I know it hides.

 

"I just want to make sure she's all right" Even if I hadn't heard his name, his voice is unmistakable.

 

"Play nice Santino," I whisper from the bed where I lay, an IV dripping something deliciously numbing inside my veins.

 

Santino eyes me with big green eyes, asking me if I'm sure without words. I nod.

 

He doesn't seem too happy but he walks away.

 

John leans on the doorway, fidgeting with his fingers, unsure if he's welcome. I gesture to the chair next to the bed and he strides over to me.

 

He sits, tapping the floor with heavy boots. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, but no actual sound comes out. He grabs his head between his hands, frustrated with his own lack of words.

 

Maybe I should break the silence, but for once I want him to say something without me having to coerce words out of him, so instead, I stare at him at my leisure. Unlike the last time I saw him, he looks clean, but the bags beneath his eyes are prominent and his wounds are still swollen.

 

As I'm about to give in he drags the chair until he's within reach and he grabs my hand. His forehead presses against my fingers, and I know what's going through his head.

 

"I'm so sorry," He says, lifting his head and sighing.

 

"It's not your fault," I say, knowing that he won't believe me.

 

"But it is. I shouldn't have brought you into it."

 

"Even if you hadn't, I would've found out what happened and I would have gotten involved."

 

He swallows hard, looking at the stains of blood on the bandages I wear.

 

"Everything I touch dies", He says, eyes lost somewhere beyond this room.

 

"I'm not dead yet Jonathan," I reply.

 

"Can you forgive me?"

 

"There's nothing to forgive."

 

He doesn't seem too relieved by my answer but he presses no further and instead shifts on his seat, letting go of my hand.

 

"So you and Santino huh? That's an odd choice."

 

"Well, we can't all get Helens," I say but his face contorts in a strange gesture, like a wounded animal. "I shouldn't have said that I only meant that… He knows who I am, and he's okay with it. And it goes both ways."

 

"This is not who you are," he says shaking his head.

 

"It's a part of it."

 

"We're better than the worst parts of us."

 

"Do you really believe that?"

 

"Helen did."

 

"Well, it sounds like she was very wise," I tell him, and I can't help but ask the one thing that always intrigued me. "Did you ever told her? About your past, what you did?"

 

About me?

 

"No"

 

I don't know what answer I expected. I take a deep breath and I almost enjoy the pain it sends through my body.

 

"See, that's the thing. I don't think I could live like that. I'm not proud of what I've done, but I don't need to hide it with him."

 

"You didn't have to hide it with me," He answers, looking at the floor as he utters the words.

 

"I wasn't ready then John. And I don't think you regret your choices."

 

He doesn't answer, he just sighs and looks at me with something close to pity. I hate it.

 

The meds are kicking in, and I start to feel sleepy. I don't want him to leave, I don't want to sleep now because I know he won't be here when I wake up again, but I can't stop my heavy eyelids from closing.

 

*

Weeks go by painfully slow. I'm not bed-bound anymore, but there's no much I can do without risking tearing open my insides again so I get restless.

 

Then one day my phone rings and I recognize too well the silence on the other side.

 

"Hi John"

 

"Hi" He answers back

 

"How are you?" I ask him.

 

"Surviving," He says

 

"Aren't we all?" I answer, holding back the real question I want to ask.

 

"I don't know why I called. I just… wanted to hear your voice," He replies like he knows what I'm thinking.

 

"You don't have to feel guilty anymore John."

 

"It's not that. I could use a friend."

 

"Well, I'm here, always."

 

*

 

After that, he calls me all the time. Sometimes we say nothing for the longest time. Sometimes I talk to him about my day, about the mundane stuff. And sometimes he tells me all about his five years in retirement, and all the things he lived with her.

 

There's a certain guilty pleasure about hearing him talk about it. It makes me wish for something else, something different than this life, but I know it's probably too late for me.

 

He hears it in my voice, that longing, and he always says that I still could, even though I've never said it out loud. But there are other things at play now, things I'm far too deep into now to get out.

 

Life goes slow like this. I can't work right now and I get restless. Santino tries to be there for me and he doesn't exactly fail. But the camorra won't tend to itself so he has to I guess.

 

Then months go by and the calls keep coming. I don't know what to do anymore, I hate where we're going. I don't want to expect his calls, I don't want to get used to him again. It took so much from me trying to get over him, and if I'm not careful I'll end up where I started. But I can't tell him to go away either because I know he's hurting. I try to be a friend like we were before anything happened even if it hurts.

 

My health improves by the day. I wish I could say the same about Santino's mood. It's been souring constantly since his sister's coronation was announced. He always knew this was coming, but I suppose he thought he'd find a way to stop it. His mind is always on a strategy, past or future, and in a way, it works well for me that he is so absorbed by it because so far he hasn't brought up what I fear most.

 

Until one day he does.

 

"I'm going to use this," He says while we're having dinner one night in his apartment as he places the round marker in front of my plate.

 

"Use it for what?" I ask even though I know the answer. He's desperate for that seat at the high table.

 

"You don't want to know," He answers, taking a bite out of the steak on his plate.

 

"You want to kill your sister don't you?" I retort because I have feared this for some time now.

 

He ignores my bluntness although he winces at my statement.

 

"I earned that seat. The things I could do with it… Why should she get it just because an old man decided it should be hers?"

  

He talks about murder like he's talking about the weather and the coldness of his words frightens me, there's not an inch of feeling in his voice.

 

But that's the thing about him, I can always count on the truth so I spill out what I'm thinking.

 

"If you can do that to your own flesh and blood, I wonder what you'd do to me if I was ever on the way of you getting what you want"

 

"There's only one thing more precious to me than that seat _bella_. You. I would never hurt you."

 

"But it's not enough, is it?"

 

"No."

 

"Please don't do it, don't drag John into this again."

 

"The lengths you'll go through to protect someone you claim not to love anymore are surprising," His silver voice hides a ring of disappointment.

 

"It has nothing to do with that. We are friends, we look out after one another," I tell him.

  

It's not a lie. He is my friend. But I do still love him. Can you love two people at once? Because I do.

 

"He wasn't looking out for you the last time, was he? He was on his ridiculous mission for revenge, and he wasn't thinking about you or who he'd bring down with him,"

 

"I'm begging you. Please don't," It's all I manage, I don't have any more answers, and I can't refute his argument.

 

"That seat should be mine and he's the best chance I have at getting it."

 

"Why is what you have not enough?"

 

That's something I'll never understand. It hurts something inside me, knowing that he will always crave power more than anything else in the world, and I can't compete with that.

 

"Because I could do better than her," He answers, and I know he won't let this go.

 

My eyes shut close and the breath that escapes my lips is heavy as I say the words.

"I'll do it. I'll kill Gianna. But it will cost you something"

  

The green in his eyes darken for a moment and he looks at me in disbelief.

 

"What will it cost me?" He says, recomposing himself, stifling a laugh and taking a sip of his wine.

 

"Me."

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
